A Psychic for the Holidays
by Sanqhian
Summary: Shawn is set on making Lassiter his and has decided to use the holidays to woo the detective.
1. The Turkey at the Table

**Author Note:** _This is a delightful new type of story! Shawn is going to use the holidays to win over the man he wants. Therefore, I will post a new chapter for each holiday as it approaches. In other words, it'll be about Christmas before you get chapter two! This will certainly give me time to give it proper thougth, especially since New Year's will be so close after! So enjoy this little Thanksgiving treat! And for those readers returning to my work as well as new Psych fans, you can find a link on my profile to an original (published!) short story or mine._

_Happy Thanksgiving and Happy Hanukkah!_

* * *

**The Turkey at the Table**

Burton Guster, better known to his friends as Gus, sat before his computer in the cluttered Psych office. His fingers were flying over the keyboard as he did something resembling work, perhaps something even important, Shawn Spencer didn't know or even care all that much. There was something else that needed Gus's attention. So without missing a beat Shawn waltzed into the office, ignored the pineapple smoothie on his desk as well as his Nerf gun, and stopped halfway through the room. Without missing a beat, and before Gus had the chance to see what was coming, Shawn lobbed a stuffed turkey complete with googley-eyes in his best friend's direction.

"Bull's-eye!" he exclaimed as the turkey hit the intended target. Sure, it skimmed the desktop and took out a cup holding pens sending them crashing to the ground, but that was a minor concern.

Caught surprised by the fowl assault, the turkey landing squarely in his lap, Gus jumped, knocking over a can of soda. "What the hell, Shawn!"

Shawn beamed, pumping his fist in the air. "Boo-yah."

Righting the can and getting up to seek out a paper towel to wipe up the spill, Gus took a moment to throw a glare in Shawn's direction. He left the stuffed bird on his chair knowing that if he threw it back he might start something that wouldn't end too well. He loved Shawn with all his heart, but there were times, at least deep down inside, that he wished his friend would grow-up just a little. While Gus took care of his desk Shawn turned his focus to his own personal space, cluttered as it was with comic books and knick-knacks, he plopped into the chair and picked up the smoothie. For a moment he closed his eyes, savoring the wonderful taste.

"Did you know Chanukkah is coming up?" he said.

"It's _Hanukkah_," Gus corrected. "And what does it matter? You aren't Jewish." He picked up the turkey and sent it sailing toward the couch under the big bay window. "And traditionally turkey isn't consumed."

"I've heard it both ways," muttered Shawn.

Gus sat back down. "I know I'm going to regret asking this, but what's with the stuffed bird, Shawn? I know you've got something going on in that head of yours…"

"Correct-a-mundo!" Shawn sat up, leaning on his desk. "I have made a big decision, Gus, the biggest decision of my life."

"You're going to get a real job and stop all this fake psychic stuff?"

Shawn brushed away the obviously absurd idea. "Pssshhh, never. No, as I was making my way here I saw that silly bird and it stared at me with those intense googely-eyes. It's like it hypnotized me. It told me to buy it as a centerpiece."

"A centerpiece for what?"

"Thanksgiving," declared Shaw. "I am going to host Thanksgiving this year. Isn't it splendid?"

Splendid wouldn't exactly have been Gus's choice of phrase. He swallowed down the urge to laugh seeing the conviction clear as day in Shawn's eyes. Damn. He should have been there to instantly convince his friend that the idea was perhaps one of the dumbest things he'd ever thought of, and he knew that if thought about it long enough he could come up with some pretty ridiculous things from their past.

"Shawn, it's less than a week away. Maybe next year…"

"Nope, this year. Definitely this year. And you're going to help."

"What? When did I agree to that?"

"Just now, when you caught the ceremonial turkey."

"You threw it at me!"

"Think of it like a bridal bouquet."

"Shawn…"

Shawn sat back, putting his feet up on his desk, sipping his smoothie. "Let's see, I want to invite my dad, Jules, of course, and the chief. Should probably include Buzz and Woody, don't want them to feel left out. And Lassiter, I think he should come."

As soon as Shawn said the detective's name all the pieces fell into place for Gus. Now it made sense. It wasn't about the holiday itself, more about getting the detective into Shawn's apartment and within range. He couldn't recall exactly when it became apparent that Shawn had a thing for Lassiter, but it had been growing with every case. There were some days when Shawn was difficult to deal with, perhaps even a bit unbearable. Infatuation, or at least so Gus thought at first. Unfortunately for Shawn, Gus saw no inkling that Lassiter felt the same, in fact he figured it was quite the opposite. Try telling Shawn that, though, he just wouldn't hear it.

And with that train of thought Gus was torn.

His gaze shifted to the stuffed turkey. On one hand he wanted to help Shawn simply because it would be torture if he didn't, but on the other hand he knew it was destined to be a disaster. First off, what crazy scheme would Shawn come-up with in order to get the detective to even agree on the whole thing? Nothing Shawn did was ever going to make Lassiter want to have dinner with him, least of all on Thanksgiving; which Gus got the feeling wasn't that big a deal for Lassiter. The man never really talked about his personal life, aside from a bitter ex-wife and a fling with a prisoner. Gus was actually still surprised by the whole prisoner thing, to be honest.

Shawn had kept talking while Gus's thoughts wander, no doubt making plans for this or that, or he could have been simply talking about random mindless things with no connection to Thanksgiving whatsoever. Gus knew he should have been paying attention, otherwise he really had no one to blame when he wound up being dressed like a turkey on the big day, something he definitely would not put past Shawn.

Instead he found himself staring at his friend.

When they started spending more and more time at the precinct he thought it was because Shawn was attracted to Juliet O'Hara and who could blame him, she was a beautiful woman. And in all their years of friendship Shawn had never once shown interest in dating any men before so what made Lassiter so special? Was it the way he constantly shot down Shawn that made him so attractive, the thrill of the hunt, the one Shawn just could not have? To him Lassiter was abrasive and rude, a touch sarcastic and easily annoyed by Shawn's antics. What was he missing about Lassiter?

Why did Shawn want him?

"It's going to be brilliant. You won't regret it."

This was the moment, Gus realized, his opportunity to weasel his way out of the whole thing. It was Thanksgiving, he could claim he had dinner plans with his parents. Unfortunately, they were away on vacation and Shawn was fully aware of that since he had helped himself to a box of sweets addressed to Gus.

"I'm going to hate myself in the morning. Where do we start?"

* * *

"Please, Juliet?" Shawn was down on his knees pleading with the detective to change her mind. The chief had been the first to shoot him down and now Juliet was ready to be the second. Shawn was already starting to feel his master plan slipping away. He knew the whole thing had been a crazy idea from the start, never expecting Gus to let him get this far. He was actually quite surprised by the lack of protest from his friend. Something he would definitely get around to later. Right now he needed Juliet to say yes.

If she didn't…

She darted a glance in the direction of Gus as though to ask if the question was a serious one. Then she turned back to Shawn, a sympathetic smile on her face. She didn't even have to say anything; he already knew she was going to turn him down. "I'm sorry, Shawn but-"

He sighed, getting up. He didn't even bother to hear her out, shuffling off toward the door. There was an exchange between her and Gus, one that he could not make out, as he left the precinct. He kept going until he found his way back to the Blueberry. What he really wanted, though, as he settled on the hood, was to have his bike back, to hit the open road on his motorcycle. Hands in his pockets, head hanging down, he wondered why he ever gave the thing up, having it right now would give him the chance to escape Gus and the questions he knew where bound to pop out of his friend's mouth.

Shawn closed his eyes trying to get lost in the warmth of Santa Barbara sunshine.

"What the hell was that?" Gus asked as he came up behind Shawn.

In that instant Shawn shoved aside his pain and put a smile on his face. He was the happy, crazy psychic guy, no time for him to be down and out, at least not in front of others. He would deal with the disappointment later when he was alone in his apartment. "What was what?"

"Are you giving up that easily?"

It was a little harder than he thought to keep the smile in place. He shrugged. "You were right, it was a foolish plan. I'll just have to make sure I get to them before Christmas. That's the way to do it."

Gus was frowning. "Two people turned you down, Shawn, out of everyone you planned to ask. I'm sure Buzz and Woody would have been glad to receive the invites."

"Okay, one, I'm not inviting the guys from Toy Story, that would just be crazy, unless they can bring the dinosaur. And two, it's no big deal, Gus, you were right."

"Wait a minute, did you just-"

Shawn didn't bother to wait for him to finish the sentence, pulling open the passenger door and climbing into the Blueberry. What he really wanted to do was go home and dwell in his misery. If only he could, but Gus swung into the driver's seat, slipped the key in the ignition and waited. It was a rare occasion where they weren't running off to a case and they really didn't have any plans. When that became apparent Shawn requested he be taken back to the office. Gus obliged, though it was hard to get that look off his face, the one that said he wanted to push the topic further, but was doing his best to keep his thoughts to himself. Shawn knew that look pretty well, it was one he tended to ignore as Gus got it a lot.

"What about your father?" Gus finally popped as he pulled in front of the Psych office.

"Already said no."

"How…I thought you got the idea as you were walking to work, when did you ask him?"

"It's called a cell phone, Gus, really, you should learn to keep up on the times," Shawn said as he climbed out. He stretched, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the scent of the ocean all around him. Usually these things made him happy, not today. He hated to think about the way his father responded to the call. There had been laughter in his voice, the attempt to hide it rather poor. It shouldn't have surprised him in the least, when it came to the relationship he had with his father it was very hit or miss. He knew most of it was his fault for leaving the way he did all those years ago, but part of the blame lay at his father's feet, too. Still, had it not been for the old man he never would have wound up in the fake psychic gig and almost certainly would not have crossed paths with Detective Carlton Lassiter.

Just the thought of the tall lanky detective with anger issues made him feel all funny inside. He sighed, sounding much like a deflating balloon.

"Shawn? Earth to Shawn."

He glanced back over his shoulder at Gus, eyebrows raised in silent question.

Gus's frown deepened. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"Didn't your mother ever tell you no to do that? Your face will freeze that way."

"Shawn…"

"I think I'm going to walk home."

"That's-"

Shawn knew it was just going to be another one of Gus's logical points that he felt a need to make so he started off without waiting to hear the rest of it. Back-tracking his earlier route he couldn't help but feel a bit jealous every time he passed a couple. Some of them were holding hands; others were sharing little intimate moments like the rest of the world did not exist. When he left Santa Barbara all those years ago he wasn't sure he would ever return. But something brought him home. He felt drawn to return, having had a dream of his father one night and a week later still unable to get the sound of the man's voice out of his head. So he returned. And he managed to make a decent enough living, even if most of it was built on a foundation of lies, he was still helping people, didn't that matter most?

He had a few failed relationships, none of them ever feeling right. And back in the beginning, when he was just starting out at the precinct as a consultant, he thought it was Juliet who brought about the nervous flutter in his stomach, the extra rush of warmth when she turned in his direction. He had only ever been with women so he was quite surprised when he managed to sneak a kiss from her and there were no sparks, no fireworks, nothing tingled. From that point on he spent a lot of time analyzing every little thing until he finally figured it out.

His heart wanted Lassiter.

It should have shocked him, but for some reason he felt it was right. For the first time in his life he felt the detective was meant to be the other half of his soul. They were destined to be together. From that point on Shawn made it his goal to spend as much time around Lassiter as possible. Just being near the guy was enough to make him feel alive in every sense of the word. He wanted to impress Lassiter with his ability to solve cases, but realized he also needed to keep up appearances so he poked fun at the detective when the moments presented themselves.

What a fool he'd been to think that would work.

Now it was clear even to a blind man that with just one look Lassiter hated him.

Those looks made it feel like someone had wrapped their hands around his heart and they were squeezing. He hated it. He wanted it to go away.

Hands in his pockets, head hanging, Shawn continued his walk, a new thought forming in the back of his mind. Maybe the best way to make the wanting go away was to leave, head out on the open road again. Do whatever it took to erase Lassiter from his heart and mind. Put as much distance between them as possible, and perhaps when he felt he had removed every last trace of feeling for the detective he could return home again. Or maybe…

Was he ready to give up on Lassiter that easily? Since when was he a quieter? Still, maybe the Thanksgiving idea had been somewhat foolish. Gus was right to call him out on not asking the others, but he figured with rejections from his father, the chief and Juliet there was no way he would ever be able to convince Lassiter to attend. If possible the detective loathed the company of Buzz and Woody more than he did Shawn's, though it was rather hard to tell. Then again, even if he had somehow managed to get the others on board there still wouldn't have been much hope of getting Lassiter to agree. The detective was stubborn and steadfast in his absolute hatred of him.

Why the hell did he have to fall for someone who wasn't interested even the slightest bit? Why did cruel fate decide he could spend his nights in a lonely bed dreaming sweet dreams of someone he could never have? Why did he have to wake after them with an aching in his chest, a longing that chased him throughout the day? What had he done to deserve all this?

He walked the city for a while, ignoring a few calls from Gus, three from Juliet, and even one from his father. He wanted nothing more than to be alone with his thoughts for the time being. Eventually the sun sank into the ocean and the stars fought to glow brighter than the city lights. Shawn returned to his apartment, trudging up the stairs, and slipping beyond the door. No lights were turned on as he made his way to the bedroom, navigating his personal space like a pro. A few minutes later he fell into the embrace of pillows and blankets, sinking into the depression slowly enveloping him in a fog.

All the joy had been sucked out of his holidays.

As he closed his eyes all Shawn could think was that he really hated that stupid googley-eyed turkey.

* * *

All too soon it was Thanksgiving. Shawn sat at his desk at the Psych office, feet propped up on the desk, arms crossed over his chest. There was a frown on his face. He had spent the last hour searching the office trying to turn up the stuffed turkey. He wanted to sit it down in front of the television while he let the Food Network play. He felt it would be good justice for the horrible idea the stupid thing had given him. However, it seemed to have gone missing. In his search he found a bucket of Legos, his pineapple Halloween costume along with a bag of candy—which he was currently using to ease his sorrows—he'd hidden from Gus, and a myriad of other things he'd managed to collect over the years. Everything a person could imagine right down to a Chewbecca cookie-cutter; still not sure where he got that. It would have been prefect for Thanksgiving.

Staring unhappily out the window at the passersby he wondered what could have become of the turkey. Maybe Gus got tired of it and threw it away. They hadn't exactly done a lot of talking over the last few days, not after the little incident at the precinct. He just wasn't up for the questions, asked or not, so he locked himself away in his apartment, refused to answer any of Gus's calls. Cut out the world, just like he wanted, not that it helped any. Every time he closed his eyes he thought of something he would have said or done if he could have enjoyed a Thanksgiving with Lassiter.

Eyes closed, he let his head fall back.

Screw Thanksgiving.

Of course, he was hungry so he was going to have to figure something out.

"There you are," Gus declared as though right on cue. "Why didn't you answer your phone? I've been calling you all day."

"Battery died," he answered. Truth be told, he left it at home.

Gus pushed his feet off the desk. "Come on, we're going to be late."

"For?"

"Dinner."

"I don't want your pity dinner, Gus."

"It's not a pity dinner. Get up."

Shawn refused to move. "No."

"If you don't get your legs moving," Gus said, "I will wheel you out the front door and tether you to the back bumper of the Blueberry with a jump rope."

"You wouldn't dare."

Gus produced a yellow jump rope from his back pocket, narrowing his eyes. "Really? Do you want to underestimate me, Shawn? How long have I been your friend? How many horrible things have you done to me over the years? So which is it going to be, are you going to go along like a good Shawnie or do I have to risk innocent lives and tow you behind my car?"

Shawn sighed. As much fun as it might be getting towed along behind the Blueberry in his office chair he saw no reason why he should ruin the day for everyone else. Grudgingly he got to his feet and shuffled after Gus, making it perfectly clear by sighing that he was totally being interrupted in his attempt to spend the entire day moping. During the ride he kept his arms crossed over his chest and stared out the window. He never bothered to ask where they were going for dinner, what did it matter? So when they arrived at his father's house he was a little surprised, but not entirely. Leave it up to his father to be the one who saved him on Thanksgiving.

Pity dinner.

When he didn't get out of the car Gus pulled open his door. "Out," he ordered.

Shawn still refused to move. He didn't want to always be running home to daddy when the world refused to play the cards he wanted. He was an adult. He was fully capable of finding his own Thanksgiving dinner.

"No."

"Dammit, Shawn," Gus swore, which was unusual, "get out of the car. You have no idea how hard I've worked for you. You will get out of the car _now_ and be freakin' happy. _Move_."

Shawn blinked. He wasn't used to this assertive, take charge Gus. At least not as far as wanting to push his buttons and ignore his request. There was something in his tone of voice that told Shawn he'd best get his butt in gear or suffer the consequences; which he probably wouldn't like in the least. Like an obedient dog Shawn let Gus lead him to the house. He figured his father would have a simple dinner in place, maybe some wild game or something he caught down at the pier, definitely not the traditional meal Shawn had planned for his little get together. Probably a good thing he never actually got around to buying the food.

What the hell would he do with a turkey?

Gus opened the front door and smells wafted out. Shawn let his nose lead the way from that point until he wound up in the heart of the kitchen. The aroma of turkey cooking away in the oven filled the air. He breathed in deeply feeling slightly happier despite himself. A pot on the stove boiled, filled with potatoes waiting to finish cooking before they were mashed. Pies, three of them, sat on a counter. There were other bowls and plates filled with this and that. It looked like a right good feast.

"Isn't this going to be a bit too much for three people? I mean, I can down a pie easily, but Gus here, you can't give him too much sugar or he'll have nightmares."

"Shut up, Shawn."

His father, who had been checking the turkey, closed the oven and stood. "It isn't just the three of us."

"Hey Shawn," Buzz said as he stepped into the kitchen. He looked relaxed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It was a bit unusual to see the officer out of uniform. He sauntered over to a cooler, popping the top. "Just came in for a few more drinks."

Shawn waited until he left to turn on Gus. "What have you done?"

"I saw how unhappy you were when it seemed like your dream for Thanksgiving was going to be dashed," Gus explained. "So I talked to your father and then the others and well…Everything just sort of fell into place."

"What do you mean, the others?"

"Go have a look," Gus shoved him toward the dining room.

Shawn peered around the doorway to find the table completely set, every single spot, with a few extra thrown in via a pop-up card table. Enough settings for everyone he wanted to invite, plus one or two more. Buzz and his girl were talking with Woody about lord only knew what while Juliet carried on a conversation with the chief. It was almost perfect. Almost. Only one person was missing. Just then in walked the chief's husband carrying their wee little one and at his side was Lassiter. How had Gus managed that one?

And right smack in the middle of the table?

The googly-eyed turkey.

No wonder he couldn't find it.

Shawn spun around. "How…I don't….but…"

"Oh come on, Shawn," his father said. "I know why you wanted to do this and despite what you might think I only ever want you to be happy. If this helps, then I'll do my best to help."

"Now you have your chance to make a move," Gus added.

Shawn wasn't sure who he should hug first. "Group hug," he declared, attacking both of them.

* * *

Dinner passed with little to no fanfare. At first they were quiet, a comment here and there about the food. Then they started discussing work, even some of the cases Shawn's father worked. From there it was only a matter of time before they were talking about everything and anything under the sun. The time flew by. The pies were eaten. Shawn realized he had the best family in the world, even if they weren't all blood related. He would often stop to look around the table and consider himself blessed to know such amazing people.

Of course, his gaze would linger on Lassiter and when the detective looked up he would quickly turn away.

At some point he got up to venture into the kitchen hoping maybe some piece of apple pie had gotten overlooked. He realized he was still trying to mask some level of heartache when he heard the sound of someone behind him.

Before he could turn around, however, Lassiter spoke. "All right, out with it, Shawn."

"Out with what?" He nearly choked on the last word, turning to find Lassiter standing so close, dangerously, wonderfully close. Shawn felt his heartbeat increase. His palms got a little sweaty. Dare he even think that Lassiter was close enough for a kiss?

"Why do you keep staring at me?"

"I haven't been." Oh no, he wasn't blushing like a fool was he?

"Don't lie to me."

Shawn eyed the empty tins forlornly, trying to get his brain moving in a different direction. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was unbuttoning Lassiter's shirt. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Lassie-face."

"Oh my god, you did something to my food, didn't you?"

"You're out of your mind."

"I knew coming here was a mistake," the detective grumbled. "I never should have let them talk me into it. What the hell was I thinking?

"You were thinking about how much you love me," the words popped out.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Shawn wanted the floor to swallow him up and spit him back out at the office. It took him a second or two to realize that Lassiter was flustered by the statement. That bolstered Shawn's courage. He closed the gap between them, nearly pressing himself up against Lassiter. He could smell the heavenly aroma of aftershave and a little something else…

"Oh, that's right," Shawn said, not sure what was coming over him as he placed a hand on Lassiter's chest, "you love me. You don't want anyone to know so you act all big and tough and like you hate my guts, but deep down," he leaned in closer to whisper in Lassiter's ear, "you really want me." For good measure he kissed Lassiter on the cheek. Then he stepped back, smiling from ear to ear. "Love you, Lassie-face. Happy Thanksgiving."

He quickly left the room, not presenting Lassiter with a moment to ruin the encounter. He plopped down into his chair. Juliet and his father were busily saying goodbye to the chief and her husband. Shawn snatched up the googley-eyed turkey and hugged it.

"Do I even want to know?"

"I have recently decided not to give up," Shawn replied. "Even if it takes me a year of holidays, I'm going to win that man over. Mark my words, Gus." He locked gazes with the turkey, narrowing his eyes. "By next Thanksgiving Lassiter and I will be here as a couple."

"Shawn, don't you think that's just a little crazy?"

He raised the turkey up high. "So the turkey foresees it, so shall it be.


	2. Shawn Claus

**Author Note:** _My apologies on the delay! Enjoy!_

* * *

**Shawn Clause**

He stood in the doorway, a mischievous grin on his face. Quiet as he could, which wasn't all that easy given the jingly bells he sported, he crept across the room. Inspiration struck him half way to his goal and he began to exaggerate his steps in a perfect mimic of Jim Carrey as the Grinch. Some how he reached his intended target, stopping. Gus lay on the couch under the big bay window that looked out on the ocean. At some point during the day, perhaps around lunch time given the nearby bowl, he had fallen asleep. Laying on his stomach, a blanket drawn haphazardly over him he muttered in his sleep. Shawn tried to keep a straight face, managing to strangle the giggles that threatened to pour forth. His grin verging on creepy he stood by the couch with his hands on his knees just staring at Gus.

There was almost no distance between them, Shawn wondering if he stuck out his tongue if he could lick the very tip of Gus's nose. Not that he felt any sort of desire, but the idea popped into his head.

After a couple of minutes Gus began to stir. Finally, Shawn's lower back starting to hurt a bit, Gus opened his eyes. At first they just fluttered lazily as he returned to the waking world. Then he caught sight of the up close face and freaked, yelling as he threw back the blanket and practically jumped off the couch. Somewhere in the process he grabbed the pillow and swung it at Shawn, connecting with a muffled thud. He kept swinging and yelling. Shawn lost his composure and started giggling like a fool, even when he tripped over the coffee table and was sent sprawling backwards on the floor. Raising the pillow high for another good whack Gus paused. The panic disappeared from his face as he narrowed his eyes.

"Damn it, Shawn," he cursed, chucking the pillow at Shawn. "You could have given me heart failure."

Shawn kept laughing, tears springing into his eyes, his face turning red. "You…should…" He couldn't get out the rest of the words.

Gus gave him a dismissive kick in the shin before storming over to his desk, falling into his chair in a bit of a huff. When he finally regained control of himself Shawn sat up, adjusting his fake beard, which hung far too low on his face, and looked at his best friend.

"I couldn't help myself."

"Why the hell are you dressed like Santa, Shawn?"

"Because it's Christmas time," Shawn declared as he jumped to his feet, holding out his arms. The office had the odd decoration here and there, mostly lights that Shawn tacked to the wall, all of them in an alluring shade of green. And he absolutely refused to tell Gus where he got the light-up pineapple he stuck in the corner to be their tree. He even put some gifts around it. Most of them where just happily wrapped empty boxes, but one of them continued a much sought after gift for his best friend. Some people may see him as little more than a goofball, but deep down he cherished the people in his life and he wanted every single one of them to know it this year. If only he could cross off the last two people on his list. For some reason it had been easy to shop for Juliet and the chief, even Buzz and Woody were quick finds. But his father and Lassiter?

Just thinking about getting them gifts made his insides all twisty.

"Shawn?"

He blinked, tearing his gaze from the pineapple. "Yes?"

Gus sighed. "Do I even want to know what tracks that brain of yours has been traveling?"

"Perfectly stupendous ones, of course," she said. He made his way to Gus's desk, the bells on his Santa suit jingling with every move. "Do you, perhaps, happen to recall the events of Thanksgiving?"

"All too clearly," Gus muttered. His frown deepened. "You are not doing Christmas, Shawn, and there is no way you are going to make me help. It's not like you threw some ceremonial reindeer at me or something."

"Hmmm," Shawn stood, a finger pressed to his lips. "Why hadn't I thought of that?"

"Forget it, Shawn. Christmas is a very big holiday. People tend to like spending it with their families. I'm going to see my parents," Gus said. "Juliet is probably doing something with her brother. Buzz is married so my guess is he'll have a little romantic one-on-one with his wife so…"

"That leaves Woody, my dad and Lassiter. Perfect."

Gus's eyes widened. "Have you lost your mind? Your dad may get along with Lassiter, hit or miss, but Lassiter despises you _and_ Woody. There is no way you'll convince Lassiter to do anything even remotely Christmas-y with you. Even if," he added, holding up his hand to hold off Shawn's protests, "your dad helps."

In response Shawn stuck out his tongue. "Why do you have to be such a party pooper, Gus? Come on," he said, plucking a candy cane from his pocket. It had seen better days, snapping in the pillow-bashing he received. "Isn't this the time of year for miracles? Aren't people supposed to ask Santa what they want for Christmas?" He waltzed over to the sofa and sat down. He patted his knee, a twinkle in his eyes. "You just come over here and sit on Santa's lap, tell him what you want. You've been a good boy, Burton Guster, I bet you'll get what you want."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Not in a million years."

"You're missing the point…"

For a moment neither of them spoke, then it slowly dawned on Gus what exactly Shawn was saying. He began to shake his head. "No, no, no, no, no, you cannot possibly be serious, Shawn. It'll never work."

"Never say never, Gus!"

* * *

He tried to make it perfectly clear on the ride to the precinct that he hated the idea, loathed it. Forget about trying to help Shawn win over Lassiter. It was never going to happen, no matter how hard he tried. In typical Shawn fashion, however, he refused to listen, his mind already made up. When Gus pulled into the precinct parking lot he bit down on his bottom lip. How could his day possibly get any worse? He knew exactly what Shawn planned on doing, it was clear as day, and would have given anything to just vanish at that point. He was trying to think of a way to get out of leaving the car, praying his phone would ring or something, as he pulled into a spot.

"Please, Shawn," he tried pleading one more time.

But it was too late, Shawn was already out of the car and making his way across the lot. Every time he came across someone he let out a cheerful cry of ho-ho-ho. Some of the officers smiled, a few called out a greeting to Santa. Reluctantly Gus got out to follow him. Shoving his hands in his pockets, head hanging, he trudged after his friend. Somewhere Shawn managed to get his hands on a big red sack, it probably came with the costume. There was no telling what was inside, and on some minor note Gus didn't really want to know, but it certainly bulged.

By far the oddest thing, however, was that he noticed on the drive over that Shawn smelled like cookies.

His stomach growled.

It was cruel.

Now he wanted some. A sugar cookie or maybe chocolate chip.

He would treat himself if he survived the next couple of hours.

Shawn did everything he could to block out Gus's words, forcing them from his mind. He didn't want to think about the fact that this might not work so great. The idea had come to him while he was searching for the perfect gift for his father. He had been in the mall enjoying a pineapple smoothie when he stopped to check out the line for Santa; which he then of course joined. Despite the odd look he got from Santa he sat on the man's knee and made his wish. He only had the one.

Lassiter.

A bit far fetched, he knew, but that was the purpose of dreams. He understood why Gus was hesitant and didn't blame his friend one bit. Winning over Carlton Lassiter was not going to be the easiest task in the world. During some quiet time after Thanksgiving he began to love more and more the idea of using the holidays to his advantage. The idea excited him so much, in fact, that he found it hard to sleep at times trying to think of his next move. Who knew it would come to him with a simple trip to the mall? Of course, getting Lassiter to sit on Santa's lap was going to be a real challenge. Something told Shawn the detective wasn't the biggest fan of Christmas.

But as he pointed out to Gus, it was the season for miracles.

At least that was what all the holiday movies led him to believe.

He walked into the precinct giving out a jolly ho-ho-ho to everyone inside. The officer at the front desk just raised her eyebrows. She had gotten used to his crazy antics, as had most of the other officers in the place. He knew that some of them thought of him as little more than a joke or an expert conman, but the chief believed in his ability to solve crimes and Jewels was almost always on his side. As he made his way toward her desk he thought about letting her in on his little secret. It might be nice to have her on his side, to be able to turn to her for advice or to help plan a move. She probably wouldn't be quite the party pooper that Gus was turning out to be.

A few feet away Juliet turned and spotted him. "What…Shawn?"

"Ho, ho, ho," he said, placing a hand on his round belly. Unfortunately the padding did not shake like a bowl full of jelly. "Don't you recognize Santa Claus when you see him, little girl?"

"Shawn…"

"What's going on out here?"

By now Gus had joined them, a look of terror in his eyes as the chief opened her door and she stepped out with Lassiter. In way of answering Shawn put down his bag and pulled it open, ruffling around inside until he found what he was looking for; a hat. Quick as a wink he deposited the hat on Gus's head turning him into Santa's elf, complete with pointed ears. Gus made ready to remove it, but one glare from Shawn and he kept it in place. He knew he was going to have make it up to his best friend when all was said and done. Hopefully the gift under the tree in the office would be enough.

"Ho, ho, ho, Chief Vick, have you been a good girl this year?" Shawn turned to the chief, a little wrapped gift in hand. "I bet you have." He handed it over to her. It wasn't the big gift he had back home in his apartment, just a little something to tide her over. He brought a little something for everyone, including Lassiter. "Santa hopes you enjoy your gift."

The chief arched an eyebrow, opting not to say whatever was on her mind, simply accepting her gift with a smile. She began to remove the wrapping. "Oh, Shawn…" Inside she found a cute little toy for her youngster. Shawn had asked his mom for a little help and was happy to see that he had made the right choice. "This is adorable. Thank you."

"And for you, Jules," he spun around, plucking another carefully wrapped gift from the bag. She began to unwrap it almost immediately.

"It's wonderful, Shawn," she said, shaking the snowglobe. Inside stood some soldiers around a Christmas tree. He knew it was perfect as soon as he saw it.

Finally he sunk down into Lassiter's chair and patted his knee. "Why don't you come sit on Santa's knee, Cartlon? Tell Santa what you would like most of all for Christmas.'

"Over my dead body, Spencer," the detective grumbled.

Shawn refused to give up, having seen the expectant look on Lassiter's face when he saw his coworker's get gifts.

"Santa!" Buzz declared, having arrived.

"Officer McNabb, Santa has a little something for you," Shawn said. He motioned for Gus to bring over the sack. Grudgingly Gus did, narrowing his eyes at Shawn when nobody could see him. Yeah, he was definitely going to have to make it up to him. Shawn reached into the back and pulled out a brightly colored box. "This is for you, Buzz. No opening it until Christmas, though."

The officer gave the box a gentle shake, holding it up to his ear.

"And Mr. Guster, Santa hasn't forgotten you," the next thing he pulled out was a metal tin, passing it to Gus. When the lid was removed it revealed a batch of recently baked cookies, something Shawn managed to get with a little flittering. As soon as the cookies made their appearance some of the anger in Gus's face disappeared. He popped a cookie in his mouth, savoring the flavor. "Now Detective Lassiter, are you sure you won't come sit on Santa's lap and tell me what you want?"

"Shouldn't you already know?"

"Santa knows many things."

"Get out of my chair, Spencer."

"Good little boys and girls get visits from Santa, don't you want to be a good little boy, Carlton?"

"Move."

A little hurt, but doing his best to hide it, Shawn jumped out of the chair. He was not going to let them see that he was hurt, plastering the ever present smile to his face. "All right then, Santa has little gifts for everyone else," he said, dragging the sack along with him. He handed out little treats to the officers, nothing more than sweets, but many of them thanked him and took them with grace. He would have loved getting individual gifts for all of them. Too bad he didn't have the money to do it or any clue as to what they might have liked. Maybe he should spend a little more time with the rest of them.

He worked his way down to the morgue where he knocked on the door, then burst in, shouting ho-ho-ho. Woody jumped, dropping the pair of scissors in his hands. They clattered to the tile floor. The wacky coroner had done his part in decorating the morgue, little paper snowflakes strung up here and there. A little tree with red lights—which Shawn thought a poor choice—sat on Woody's desk. There was a little box with a real big bow sitting underneath.

"Santa?"

"Just me," Shawn said, taking off his hat and setting it on the autopsy table. He pulled from the sack one last gift and placed it under Woody's tree.

"A gift for me? You got a gift, for me?"

"Sure."

Was that the twinkle of tears he saw in the coroner's eyes? "That's…."

"Think nothing of it," Shawn smiled, wanting to bypass any awkward moment. Unfortunately something must have been off in his tone or maybe his smile wavered because Woody suddenly frowned.

"What's wrong? Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No."

"Are you sure? I had spinach at lunch and-"

"It's this whole gift giving thing," Shawn blurted out, stopping Woody as he got ready to poke around his mouth with a scalpel. "I have something for everyone. Hell, on the way down here I was struck with inspiration on what to finally get my dad."

"But you have no clue what to get Lassiter."

Shawn narrowed his eyes. "How did you know?"

"Oh come on, Shawn," the coroner rolled his eyes. "Just because I don't have a shiny badge doesn't mean I can't figure out one or two things. You like him."

"Um…" He felt the heat of a blush on his cheeks. As far as he could tell none of the people in the department knew about his affection for the head homicide detective. And if anybody was to figure it out he always thought it would be Juliet. Hell, had he been thinking about telling her not too long ago? Hearing Woody say it out loud…Shawn shifted his weight to the other foot, biting down on his bottom lip. What if upon finding out they all judged him? What if he was suddenly the butt of jokes or hate or something even worse? Could there be something worse? Of course, he just didn't want to think about it. He could feel his Christmas spirit slipping away with each passing second, with the birth of each new worry.

Woody smiled. "Don't worry, you love who you love." Such sage words from a man most people often considered a bit of a loon.

"True."

Suddenly Woody was at his side. "How can I help?"

Shawn jumped. The man smelled unpleasantly for formaldehyde. "Gees…." When his heart beat returned to normal he continued. "I am not entirely sure you can, unless you know something about the man that I don't; which I find highly unlikely."

"Did you know his mother is a lesbian?"

"Really? I actually had not known that."

"Well there you go," Woody went back to his little arts-and-crafts job as though he'd solved all of Shawn's problems.

"That doesn't exactly help."

"Um….Ah," his eyes got wide. "When I took him an autopsy report earlier I saw a catalog open on his desk, it had a few things circled in it. Bet that would help."

"Probably," Shawn said, slowly walking around the morgue, rubbing his chin. "But how to get my hands on it…"

"Got it," Woody said as he breezed out the door. He was gone before Shawn even got a chance to warn him about Lassiter's temper, though the coroner should be more than used to it by now. Gus was right in saying that Lassiter despised Woody more than he did Shawn. At least that was something, not a lot, but certainly something. It meant he might have a chance after all. The bells on his costume jingling, Shawn popped over to see what Woody had been doing when he arrived. He plucked a piece of what paper from the table to find it delicately cut. Upon unfolding it he found another snowflake, the design of which was very intricate. Shawn looked at the ones dangling from the ceiling. None of them were the same, a few might have been close, yet like each true snowflake they were all unique.

Apparently Woody was a man of many talents.

"Quick," Woody burst back through the door, "take it and run. I think he saw me."

* * *

Shawn looked at the box under the tree, chewing his bottom lip. He had sent the last three hours trying to figure out where to get the money. For some reason he kept thinking of selling his gift for Gus, but couldn't bring himself to do it. All the things he put the poor man through, his best friend deserved what was in the brightly wrapped box. Yet, if he wanted to get the best gift for Lassiter he saw no other way. Maybe Gus would understand.

Never in a million years.

"Something wrong, Shawn?"

Startled from his thoughts Shawn found his father standing in the doorway. There was a bag in his hand. Clearly Shawn wasn't the only one thinking about presents. Suddenly he couldn't wait for his father to open his gift. He was tempted to just give it to him right then and there, nearly unable to wait another day. This year he had outdone himself.

"Shawn."

He blinked, then jumped from his chair. "What a pleasant surprise, father of mine. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He rooted around in the fridge looking for something even remotely appetizing. Buried in the back he found a bag of skittles. Possibly they belonged to Gus.

"I was out doing some last minute shopping and happened to be in the area. What is this?"

Turning around he found his father holding Lassiter's catalog. Too bad he couldn't pretend he was shopping for dear old dad. Lassiter's name had been written on the page with little hearts all around it. When had he done that? And since when was he such a schoolgirl? A bit embarrassed, he dashed over and snatched the magazine from his father. Despite the fact that his father seemed okay with his feelings, he still felt a bit awkward. The old man and he hadn't exactly seen eye to eye on a lot of things. Perhaps some of the embarrassment grew from the fact he was still trying to get used to being open about his feelings. He was no longer trying to find his way on his own.

"You can't afford that, Shawn," his father said quietly.

"I know," he deflated, seeing no reason to lie to his father. He couldn't fake it all the time. Sulking, he slunk over to the couch and felt weightlessly onto the cushions. All his plans for the perfect Christmas were falling apart.

"Shawn…"

"You don't have to tell me," he began, only to be cut-off.

"Take it," his father held out a small roll of money. Shawn cocked an eyebrow. "Consider my help your gift, since I was going to use this money to but it anyway. Killing two birds with one stone."

There was a second of hesitation before Shawn jumped up, accepting the money. Then he threw his arms around his father.

* * *

There wasn't a single light. No garland. No bows. Nothing. Not one single sign of the holiday season. And why did that surprise him? Lassiter didn't exactly scream Santa Claus. What had disappointed the man so much that he had given up on Christmas? To some he would have been the perfect Grinch or Scrooge, but even they eventually found their holiday spirit. Maybe he could help, somehow. A glance over his shoulder to his bike showed a small bundle of presents secured to the back. Where would he put them since it was clear Lassiter did not have a tree? Then an idea came to him. Smiling like a fool he ran back to his bike, threw his leg and started the engine. He was off like a rocket.

A short time later he pulled up in front of the Psych office. He expected to find it dark, instead there was a light glowing inside. Curious he crept inside not wanting to be on the bad end of a robbery, only to find Gus puttering around putting things to rights.

"Is this why I can't find things half the time, you come here at night and clean?"

Gus jumped, dropping the books he'd been holding. "Damn it, Shawn."

"Hey, you're the one being sneaky," he replied, wasting no time in acting on his intentions. He went for a string of lights and yanked it down. Then he grabbed the light-up pineapple.

"What are you doing?"

"Making the holidays happen, Gus," he shouted as he left the office. There really wasn't time to explain. Tomorrow was Christmas, he wanted to get Lassiter his gifts. With a bit of a tweaking he managed to get the pineapple and the string of lights on the back of his bike with the gifts. Hopefully nothing fell off on the way, but he was certain he used enough bungee cords to get the job done. By the time he got back to Lassiter's place it was nearing midnight. He knew the detective would be upstairs sound asleep so this was going to be tricky. Somehow he had to break-in to Lassiter's, preferably without getting caught. Lassiter seemed the sort to shoot first and ask questions later.

With his goodies in hand he began to creep around Lassiter's house. Hopefully none of his neighbors were up. The last thing he wanted was someone calling the cops and ruining his surprise. He avoided the front door knowing there was no chance in hell he would get in through there, opting to see what lay around back. Along the side of the house he found a door to the garage. With a glass window. He tried the knob, but it wouldn't turn. Biting down on his bottom lip he gave the area a quick looking over. All the lights were off inside the nearby houses, only the glow of Christmas lights to keep him company, and one big blow-up Rudolph at the place across the street. He hated those blow-up decorations. They were sort of creepy.

Shawn put down his things.

He slipped off his shoe.

And promptly slammed it against the glass.

The shattering sounded horribly loud on the otherwise quiet night.

He waited, hearing for cries of alarm, checking the house for any signs of someone stirring.

Nothing.

Reaching through the whole he popped the lock and let the door swing open. With a mischievous smile on his face he gathered up his things and slipped inside. Like most people Lassiter failed to lock the door between the house and the garage, foolishly thinking it safe from unwanted visitors. Shawn would have giggled if he wasn't too afraid it would give him away. There was a little voice in the back of his mind that told him Lassiter would be all too happy to haul him off to jail for breaking and entering. Best not to have it wind up that way.

Sneaking through the kitchen, trying to take in as much as he could along the way, he found the living room and got to work. It required a bit of finesse on his end, getting the pineapple set up on the coffee table and plugged in. It glowed in lovely shades of green and yellow. Not the best Christmas tree in the world, but it was what he had to work with and more than what Lassiter had originally. He took the strand of lights and hung them around the fireplace. Why anyone in California needed a fireplace was beyond him…

With the lights all a glow he got down to work arranging the gifts. Even with his father's generous help he hadn't been able to buy the fishing pole. Taking the catalog down to the local sports shop he managed to find some nice things, a new tackle box, some nice lures, and other things that made no sense to him, but were top of the line according to the sales person. Done, he took a step back to admire his work.

And heard the familiar sound of someone stirring above.

His heart momentarily stopped.

The top step creaked as someone put weight on it.

Shawn glanced in that direction.

Then he was off like a shot, retracing his steps. By the time he burst out the garage door he was laughing.

* * *

Lassiter made his way down the stairs, gun at the ready in his hands. Something had woken him in the night and he was ready to write it off as nothing when he thought he heard a muffled sound from below. Curious, he got up and glanced out his door in time to watch a little patch of light appear downstairs. Pissed that someone had the audacity to break into his house, Lassiter grabbed his gun and decided not to alert them to his presence. Let them be caught by surprise. He wanted to see them red handed.

When he reached the bottom step he jumped around the corner, gun at the ready. "Freeze…."

What he found was not exactly what he expected.

There was a pineapple on his coffee table; it was enough to give away the identity of the break-in artist. Frowning, he made his way over to the little stack of gifts. He was going to have a thing or two to say to Shawn in the morning, maybe dust for prints, get the little crook put behind bars, that would get him out of his hair. Lassiter sat on the couch staring at the gifts. Why would anyone….There was a note taped to one of them. He tore it free, reading the carefully scrawled message in the glow of the pineapple.

_I couldn't afford to get you the pole you wanted, so I got you these things to help you enjoy it when it does become yours. –Shawn Claus_

Lassiter felt a twinge of a smile, glancing at the still wrapped presents. Why the hell would Shawn go through so much trouble….letting the note flutter to the floor he reached for the first gift.


	3. Lucky Kiss

**Author Note:** _Happy 2014! This one is a little short, but hopefully a little sweet, too.__  
_

* * *

**Lucky Kiss**

"There you are," O'Hara said, peering around the corner.

Lassiter looked up from the file in his hand, spying his partner. She looked radiant as ever and much too happy; the extra light in her eyes suggesting someone might have spiked the punch. Why did he have to work in a precinct full of juveniles, he pondered, hearing the steady rhythm of some dance beat coming from the first floor. Whoever had the bright idea of throwing a New Year's party at the precinct, they were officially on his list of people he hated. He was still trying to figure out how they convinced the chief to go along with it, though he figured it probably had something to do with a promise of no alcohol, especially for those like himself, still on the clock. Clearly someone had broken that rule. Not really wanting to be one of the revelers, he sequestered himself in the file room with a radio to listen for incoming calls and had been whiling away the time reading up on cold cases. It truly was the perfect way to spend the evening.

She sauntered in, having a look around at his dreary digs. "What are you doing? Come up and have some punch," she waggled her cup at him. "And there are the most delicious cookies…"

"I'm fine down here," he replied.

For a moment she didn't speak, sitting across from him at the small table. There was a look on her face, almost like she wanted to say something, but was uncertain how to go about it. Before he got a chance to force it out of her, though, she finally got the words out. "It's Shawn, isn't it; you came down here to hide from him."

He frowned, flipping to the next page of the file. There was no way he was going to dignify that with an answer.

O'Hara leaned forward slightly, smiling knowingly. "You did…"

"If you really must know, yes, I came down here in hopes of avoiding Spencer," he said. "After how things went on Thanksgiving and the fact that he broke into my house on Christmas, it's probably best to avoid him. There's no telling what he might have in mind for this holiday." His frown deepened. "I swear, it's like he's going out of his way to ruin my holidays."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," O'Hara said, downing the last of her punch. "But one, didn't he leave you all kinds of lovely gifts when he broke in? I think that was right nice of him. And secondly, last time I checked you weren't too particularly fond of the holidays anyway so what does it matter if he ruins them?"

"Let him ruin them, just leave me out," Lassiter grumbled. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to get back to me reading. Why don't you head upstairs and go…do whatever they're doing, dance with Buzz or something."

She smiled, standing. "I might just do that to annoy you." She stopped in the doorway on her way out. "At least come up a few minutes before midnight. You know it's bad luck to go into the New Year without a kiss."

And then she was gone. Lassiter sighed, content, returning to the murder file in his hand. The crime had taken place before his time on the force and it made for some interesting reading. He always heard that a new set of eyes might do wonders in solving old cases, something about catching things that someone else missed or the possibility of new technology resulting in fresh answers. It might look good if he could get his name on a solved cold case, maybe he could use it to get the hell out of Santa Barbra and away from Spencer and all his little tricks. Flipping to the next page of the file he set his jaw, eyeing the name of a young officer that helped worked the case. Lassiter closed the file. He really didn't want anything to do with Spencer or his father. Not one single thing.

Sipping his coffee he sat back, listening to the cheery sounds from above. If only he could sneak out or, as bad as it sounded, a call came through so he could go out on the job. Of course, that meant someone had to die and he preferred his New Year's to be free of death. Unfortunately, drunken people tended to do stupid things. He wondered how many planned on getting behind the wheel after downing way too much alcohol. Or what idiot would slam into somebody else because they had to send a quick text message.

The world was doomed, Lassiter decided.

His gaze strayed to the clock on the wall. He had been down there for over two hours. How much longer did they plan on partying? At least he had another half hour or so until it hit midnight. Maybe after then they would give it a rest. Perhaps, he thought, gathering himself, if he asked the chief nice enough she would let him call it an early night. Lassiter stood, stretching, a yawn cracking his jaw. He grabbed for his mug only to find it empty, drained of all traces of coffee. If he wanted more he would have to head up to the breakroom, in other words he would have to work his way through the partying officers and there was no telling who might do what, though most of them knew enough to leave him alone. Cup firmly in hand Lassiter started for the stairs.

Maybe if he was quick it wouldn't be such a big deal.

Stopping at the top of the steps he peeked around.

And felt like the Grinch spying on the Whos.

Stupid television Christmas specials.

Everyone certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves. He had to admit, though he would not do it freely or out loud, that it was nice to see the precinct in such a chipper light. Usually the place was all business, as he liked, with a touch of somberness to the air. The work they did was not all about smiles and good times. They were usually stepping into people's lives at the worst possible moment. Either someone was getting fined, carted off to jail or worse, left in a pool of their own blood. As he looked around the room he spotted Woody talking up one of the female officers and she actually seemed to be enjoying his company. There was a saying that there's someone for everyone. Buzz was in fact dancing with O'Hara at that point. The chief, much to his surprise, was holding her own in a conversation with Burton and Spencer.

From his concealed location Lassiter watched them, the empty mug in his hand completely forgotten.

It irked him to think how O'Hara had been right.

On both counts.

He did not much care for the holidays, no longer seeing the point of them. And the gifts Spencer left had been nice, just the sort of things he would have bought himself. Of course, he now knew who stole the fishing magazine from his desk. He should probably think of getting a lock to keep his things private. He kept watching, wondering what they were talking about. Whatever it was Spencer laughed, his face lighting up. Something about the look on his face…Even with the loud music and the conversation Lassiter picked out Spencer's laughter. Oddly enough, at the sound of it, he felt himself smiling. Then thought better of it, the smile disappearing from his face. What the hell was he doing? He turned away for a moment. Since when did seeing the psychic make him feel…happy?

"Oh crap," he grumbled, forgetting about the coffee. It wasn't worth the risk. Turning on his heel he went back to the files. At least they provided him with a comforting silence. Sinking into his chair, he closed his eyes for a moment.

And saw Spencer.

Lassiter groaned, leaning forward and banging his head on the table. It was bad enough when Spencer came around and started solving all his cases, now he couldn't get him out of his mind. That was a little secret he'd been harboring since Thanksgiving dinner. He still wasn't entirely sure what prompted him to accept the invitation, but he'd gone knowing full well he would see Spencer there, knowing it might lead to some hijinks…He hadn't been able to sleep at all that night, his mind racing.

It got worse when he sat on the couch Christmas Eve and looked at the little pile of presents knowing each one came from Spencer.

Nobody knew but in that moment a random thought had popped into his head, one he wasn't entirely fond of, one he refused to acknowledge even now sitting alone yet again. The last thing he wanted to do was to give the Universe any ideas. Still...

"Ha, found you."

Lassiter jumped, sending his coffee mug toppling from the table. It smashed to the ground. He glared at Spencer. How could he have been entertaining any thoughts of the infuriating man?

"Go away."

"But it's almost midnight."

As if on cue the horde of people upstairs began the traditional countdown. "I don't care."

"But Lassie…"

"Leave me alone." As much as he wanted Spencer to go away he couldn't help being a bit curious about what the younger man planned on doing. He knew there were crazy thoughts running through that head.

Spencer bit down on his bottom lip, then his eyes got wide. The countdown was nearing the five mark. Suddenly Spencer was standing right in front of him, grabbing hold of his shirt with both hands. "Don't you know, Lassie-face, that it is horrid luck not to have a kiss on New Year's Eve? I don't think you need any more bad luck, do you?"

"Spencer…"

It was too late. The revelers upstairs erupted into cheers as the clock hit midnight. Lassiter wasn't given a chance to fend off the psychic before Spencer leaned in and kissed him. Full on the lips. He was too much in shock to react and it was over in the blink of an eye. In a split second Spencer was standing before him grinning like the fool he happened to be.

"There, now we're both in for a good year. Happy New Year, Lassiter."

Lassiter still wasn't sure how to respond as Spencer skipped out of the room to join the others. While he could have been upstairs to plant a kiss on O'Hara he had sought out Lassiter instead. To mess with him? To screw up yet another holiday? Lassiter knew he should be mad, simmering, verging on being ready to boil over. Slowly he raised his hand to his mouth, pressing his fingertips lightly against his lips. For some reason he was oddly…intrigued seemed like the wrong word. Could it be, could he actually have enjoyed kissing Spencer?

As soon as the thought dared to cross his mind Lassiter groaned, banging his head against the table.

So much for his New Year.


End file.
